Fateful Blow
by Shanowa
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi gets injured in battle. Nothing unusual. But this time it might have a greater impact on his life than just another scar on his skin. SLASH! in later chapters.


**Disclaimer: Same as in all my other stries...not mine.**

_**Hello, everyone. This is just my first try with an Obi-Wan /Anakin pairing. Therefore, this is SLASH! In later chaps. Don't like, don't read;)**_

_**I'm not sure yet how the plot is going to develop, but there will be more chaps to follow...**_

_**I hope this text isn't crawling with errors, I sincerencly hope I got most of them, but as always, I don't know. **__**And given that I'm rather weak in this particular aspect of writing, I hope the remaining errors don't affect the scene too much. I apologize for each and every you will probably find and I'm always glad for corrections and criticism:) I'd be very grateful if you'd be so kind as to take your time to review;) That'd make my day:D**_

_**There isn't much more to say right now besides: Enjoy! Hope you'll like it:D**_

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**Fateful blow**

**I**

"Get down! Down! Everyone DOWN!"

Anakin heard the scream of the Clone. He was yelling loud enough that he was able to hear him even though the Sergeant was approximately three blocks away from his current position.

The warning was followed by a rather deafening crash and the unmistakable sound of an exploding grenade. He couldn't care within the moment, because whatever problems the group around the explosion had to face, they were not the only one that had to deal with the Seps.

Clankers were closing in, the number continuedly increasing. They were all but circled.

Were _was_ Obi-Wan? For Force' sake his Master ought to be already here with the promised and so urgently needed reinforcement troops. He had a bad feeling abut this.

Around his feet lay thousands of dismantled droids, some still twitching. The edges where they had been severed by the bright gloom of his sabre or were a blaster had bolted in were still glowing and throwing out sparks. And in between, covering the grey muddy ground with dirty white armour lay thousands of fallen soldiers, all human, all as equal in dead as there appearances had been in live.

Clones, all of them, but Anakin despised calling them that. They were human, living, thinking, and feeling creatures, everyone an individual, everyone special even if they all were condemned to mirror a long dead bounty hunter. Brave men with loyalty and convictions, dying as random characters in a game too cruel and too complex to understand.

Basically they were no different from Anakin himself. From all beings.

He hated every being who though otherwise. Who were arrogant enough to think themselves better than the cloned soldiers. Who sat on their ass in a safe and convenient office, discussed the various aspects of the clone wars and thought they'd know about suffering. About pain. About struggling to survive, not to throw a concurrent out of his leather armchair and not to despair when the taxes they had to pay increased daily. They never heard the ragged breathing of a friend on the brink of death. They were never forced to hold their brothers in their arms, they would never know the suffocating sting in their chests when they had to press a shaking hand in a haemorrhaging gash in their brother's chest and beg him to hold on, to keep breathing.

They never closed a dead man's eyes or kissed someone goodbye on cold, pale cheeks.

No, they complained when the war demanded their money, their support, complained when battles were lost, complained when they were won, complained about causalities and lost honour, but not once they stopped to look at grieving soldiers and not once they offered a hand to a crying, orphaned child.

What could he do, though? What was his to decide at all? He was sent into battles, one after one to live or die for the republic in order to fulfil duties the leader of this republic found necessary to fulfil and to pay with the lives of thousands. To pay for the freedom of all the creatures living safe and undisturbed in peace.

He had sworn an oath to give his life to protect this republic. Yet he was no longer sure if it was worth the prize they had to pay every day, the losses in never ending blood-soaked battles against the cold metal of the separatist's force.

The war was now raging for more than two years and Anakin had long given up to ask for someone to explain to him the sense of all this killing. There was just no point in doing that. It was far more likely that he would battle his former Master and best friend than the killing would end any time soon. And he was most certainly sure that he would rather die than to fight Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He had no idea how wrong he was, then.

A shot right beneath his right foot rushed him not very gently back into reality. He forced his mind to concentrate on the battle and struggled to find a rhythm within the steady flow of red blaster bolts all around him. The light blue blade flashed and twitched neatly from one side to the other, always in motion, strictly controlled by his firm grip, yet lead by the Force alone. Not one blaster shot penetrated his defence. But the frequency increased exponentially with every new droid arriving and he felt tiredness crawling beneath his skin. Exhaustion was washing over him and brought a new perilous threat.

After a few hasty jumps and rolls to avoid being shot he came to the conclusion that perhaps it might be wise to change tactics. This constant reflecting and defending was the Obi-Wans strength, not his. The master had fully mastered it and was meanwhile probably better at it than that old green troll himself. And therefore Anakin had unfortunately hardly any need for this. Having always a partner who took care of your back and the sides and most of the shots anyway, he had focused on his attacks. Which was his expertise now. And which these kriffing clankers were about to experience now.

They did. And fell. The technique once more proved rather effective and the ranks lightened fast.

His acrobatic dance with the dead was just interrupted by short, rough barks to the remaining troopers behind him. It didn't took them long to get rid of the second wave of the enemy forces.

He sighed and turned off his weapon, clutching it tightly to his belt once more. It would take he less than a second to have it ignited and bright glowing in his glove covered hand again, as he knew.

Wiping the sweat and dirt off his face with a sleeve of his arm he took a moment to regain his composure as he felt the blazing beacon in the force that was his Master approaching and turned round to face his clone captain Rex, commander of the 501st.

"Status, Rex?" The man in front of him answered straight, without even the hint of hesitation. Even if the Knight was able to feel the weariness and exhaustion radiating from the clone as well as the grief he felt for all his fallen brothers (A_t least, they were allowed to grieve_, Anakin thought with the familiar irritation stinging his chest to be followed by a sudden sting of pain.) Rex would never show him what he felt. Born for battle, existing for the single purpose of killing and dying on a battlefield, trained from earlies infancy to follow orders without questions, they were the most loyal and brave soldiers, a General could wish for.

And again, Anakin had long ago given up, asking for the ethnic questions of this and for why this had to be. He just wondered, again, how it could have come that far.

"Master! Master!" He winced slightly at the high sound of a girl's voice, far too young for all this. Even if she would probably behead him, would he tell her that. The excited, orange Togruta all but jumped before him, muscles tensed, eyes sparkling expectantly, radiating obviously endless energy. She was _enjoying_ the battle, he realized with shock, enjoying the challenge and the adrenalin of the fight.

He'd have to work on that with her. Very soon, before she managed to get into too much trouble.

One important person almost constantly injured or otherwise in trouble was enough to handle.

It was enough that he had to rescue Obi-Wan as much from the enemies as he had to rescue him from himself and his stubborn demanding on being _fine _even when one leg was broken three times and he had suffered from an concussion, seriously enough that he wasn't able to count from one to ten anymore. It wasn't that his former Master was incapable. In fact, he was quite _good_ at what he was doing, in fact, one of the best. It was just that he seemed to magnetize all the killers and droids and bounty hunters and Sith lords. Although Anakin, the supposed Chosen One would logically draw more assassins it was always his former master who seemed to become the main target.

And that wasn't much helped by the fact, that he just seemed to care more about the life of an Nubian Flumosquito (Really unnerving beasts) than about his own life.

He was the most selfless being Anakin had ever met. Noble and honourable and most annoying for all who cared about him.

_Well, I really have to work on my concentration, always getting carried away doesn't exactly help to survive._

He turned his focus on his jumping Padawan, once more. "Ahsoka?"

"Master, the droids are pulling back! They are on retreat!" Her sharp teeth glinted in the pale rising sun. Although she had gained a maturity within the last two months she was still his Padawan and on the field now, sometimes, her behaviour had more of the child she still was than of the warrior she was about to be be in a few, much too short years.

"That's great news, Ahsoka", he sighed again, hating to have to crush her joy. "That's great, but we have to consider a trap. They might just want to confuse us. Or they're just regrouping."

She pouted at him, but her eyes glittered amused. "Master, you definitely sound like Master Kenobi, right now! He has a bad influence on you! Or maybe the other way round-" She murmured that under her breath, but he still heard it and glared at her.

"Anyway, Master, they might regrouping, yes, or they just are beaten!" She grinned again, but at the sight of Rex, her smile faltered.

"We've lost a lot of troopers, today, haven't we?" All happiness was vanished now. Anakin just wondered, again, how one's mood could change just quite that fast. Probably the hormones. She _was_ right in puberty, wasn't she?

He opened his mouth to answer her, when _something_ struck him. Nothing more than a slight dark foreshadow. _Flames, heat, hatred, pain, agony, sorrow, grief. _He spun around, realizing within the same moment that it was already too late. Too late to react.

_Get out of here, NOW!_ It was an order. He couldn't follow it, though, for it was too late.

They were about to die.

_Podoo! _He cursed silently and then saw Ahsoka, Rex and all the nameless white-clad soldiers around them flying through the air, thrown by a mighty invisibly Push and felt a heavy weight, much too familiar crashing hardly against him, shoving him with the support of another Force-Push out of the way as well. He felt himself sliding over the ground, cutting an aisle in between all the metal and corpses on the ground and he felt himself lowering the lids shut over his eyes as an involuntary reaction to the sudden flash of white glistening light that almost immediately erupted into red and golden and bright orange flames.

The unleashed power of too much heat in too less time tore the tank in front of them into thousand pieces.

He didn't hear the detonation, not even the impact of the metal, torn to shreds and crashing down around them. He couldn't hear anything anymore. Nothing, except that unmistakable high, stinging tone exposing his tympanums to excruciating agony.

His vision was a blur, only very slowly his eyes adjusted and showed him a picture that replaced the glistening light that blinded him. He could hardly recognize anything through the misty ash but everything seemed to be in slow motion. Something warm and wet trickled down his cheek, but he didn't pay any attention to it. Desperately struggling to fully regain his consciousness, he watched the clones getting up again, almost curiously. They could get up, they had no problem with it, all the balance, but why couldn't he? He was a Jedi, their General, he ought to get up and help them cleaning up.

It took his brains some time until realisation struck. Of course, they had their helmets and sound filters and they were heavy armed. So they were protected from most of the damage the sensual overload caused temporarily.

But there was more, he was missing something, he was sure that he was missing something.

Ahsoka! No, Ahsoka and Rex have been thrown out of the way, have been thrown into safety from a very powerful Force-

_Obi-Wan! _

No, no, no, NO! _Force, no, please, no!_

He reached out to him, anxiously probing their shared bond, fearing what he would feel and praying that he would be still alive. _No, please, be alive! Please, stay with me! Don't you dare to die on me here!_

There, he was there, he _was_ alive! Nothing else was important right now, not his badly hurting knee, not the anxious scream through the Force of a Padawan, scared to death, not even all the groaning and gasping creatures around him, suffering and dying. He struggled to get up, fell down again, and started crawling through the mud, biting his lip and ignoring the sharp pain that stung in his side.

There, he felt him, presence slowly fading, already weak and slurred.

He reached out and breathed out relieved when his hand closed around a pale, blood-soaked, but warm- so gorgeous _warm_ wrist, feeling the Force vividly pulsating through the veins of the other.

He struggled even closer and lay his head on the other man's chest, cherishing the low sound of a steady heart beat, not even realizing the fact, that the white cloth was smeared with crimson blood.

"General? General!" He didn't stir by the sound.

"General! You have to get out of here, Sir! The area's not yet cleared! There are still droids strolling around."

Slowly he forced himself to sit up and drag the unconscious form of his former master with him.

He felt rather than saw two white clad clones grasp him by his upper arms and lead him from the area, inside of a near ruin, too destroyed to recognize. Just fainting whispers in the force told the tale of thousands of busy creatures, bashing hurriedly around to to do whatever they had had to do.

He was sit down and leaned against a dusty column and felt the cold sting of a syringe piercing his neck. His vision cleared almost immediately and he felt his senses reawaken.

Two strong arms held him tight and examined him briefly, searching for further injuries. When they found none, he was released again immediately and the white medic turned away to address the other human who was just carried in.

Obi-Wan.

Anakin struggled again to the still Jedi and tried to locate and fix the wavering force signature around him, but a gentle tug on their bond and a soothing whisper was all he could do at the moment.

"Sergeant? Sergeant what's wrong?" The medic didn't interrupt his work as he answered while tearing the sandy tunics apart and uncovering a blood-soaked upper body.

"I'm not sure yet, Sir, but I don't think the injuries are – severe. From what I can recognize has he been rather lucky, I can tell. I mean, surviving that explosion..."

"I see." Anakin breathed out very slowly. He felt relief wash over him and swallowed, needing to cough to squeeze an answer from his dry throat.

The gashes and burns signing the muscular chest did look quite painful but were shallow. At least he hoped so.

"Sir, if I may suggest to take General back to the med-tent. He's not come around yet and he might have a concussion."

Anakin blinked. What _else_ could he possibly have in mind when a General lay unconscious and not moving in the mud? He had to swallow his irritation to not to snap at the poor Sergeant.

He knew he tended to be a bit overprotective.

Bant had made that quite clear when she told him frankly, he should get his kriffing ass out of the surgeon area if he was not wishing to slice the Master up himself and had kicked him out of his room in the med bay for a few days to _fucking calm down _when his Master had screamed in pain not so long ago. To weeks later, he had been in a similar situation when an Ahsoka with a charred hole in her side was about to get on the transport to the Kaminoan Med-facilities and Obi-Wan had had to sling an arm around his waist and literally tackle him to the floor in order to keep him off that transport.

As a result he'd been running around with a black eye for more than a week, because after all he really couldn't expect Anakin to _prevent _himself from trashing behind with his elbow. Anakin, in turn had ended up with a cracked tooth, a two-hours-lecture about this completely destructive side of attachment and the destructiveness of attachment itself and had been daggered by some really deadly glares sent by said swollen eye.

"Sir?"

Damned, he really had to do something about that.

"Yes, take him back. I'll be there as soon as I'm done here. We have a bit of a mess here now, don't we?" He attempted to grin, but was sure it looked rather like a grimace as worries pierced him stomach again.

Injuries were nothing unusual to them, for Obi-Wan even less than for himself, but he nevertheless hated it every time. He hated the fear, the low stinging feeling of dreadful uncertainty and the pain that always leaked through mental shields and seared bonds. He hated the guilt. And the need to worry about someone he loved. He hated the different scenarios of what could have been deadly if details had been reversed which haunted him for days in his dreams afterwards. He felt his frustration and worries turn ones more into irritation and desperate anger. Anger that directed itself towards Obi-Wan, for getting injured again, towards himself, for being so slow and it turned to rage when he thought of the Separatist that through the grenade. He breathed, slowly, to calm himself and tried to release his emptions into the force. The success, however was something that, like always, eluded him.

He ignored the Sergeant's "Right away, sir" and turned around.

He didn't like having some people he didn't know tampering with Obi-Wan, but then, what choice did he have other than to trust the clones? On the first mission he was assigned the first time to the 501st he had made it quite clear, that anyone who dared to scamp with Obi-Wan Kenobi, would loose his head also "right away".

The Jedi in question had been not amused when he found out about this conversation with the medics, but Anakin had, as he did quite often actually, persistently ignored him and the following lecture about how threatening medics was never a good tactic to stay alive.

"Erm, sir?"

"What?", he snapped.

"Sir, please, come with me as well, we'll have to take care of your knee, General." It wasn't a question, but this time, he wasn't going to complain. No, this time, he was all but relieved to have an excuse.

Overprotective, indeed.


End file.
